


Sightless

by hydrangea



Category: Aschenputtel | Cinderella (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Point of View, Gen, extra scenes from a fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/hydrangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Marie, step-sister of Cinderella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sightless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChokolatteJedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely Lady Charis for checking spelling and grammar at such a short notice!

Ants marched across Marie's toes in the dark soil beneath Father's Tree as she stretched her arms deep into the crown. She giggled from the tickles but didn't move; there was only a little time until Mama would come find her. All the sparklies needed to be tied into the branches before then, and it had taken her days to find enough shards of glass and shiny rocks to make them. Father had always said that the sparklies needed to be tied before the first fruit ripened or the birds would take it all.

Her fingers tangled with the scraps of thread as she wove it through the knobbly branches; she dug her toes deeper for balance until the earth grew cold and wet against her toes. The Tree had grown the past year. Father had been gone for nearly three years. The branches were starting to become beyond her reach, but climbing was out of the question. Mama had taken the switch to her only once, but once was enough.

"Marie!" The kitchen door creaked open, letting Mama's voice pierce the small herb garden. "Come inside!"

Marie dropped the last sparklie in her hurry to drop down on her heels, felt a small twinge of guilt as she hurried away from the Tree. Father would've been disappointed. "Coming, Mama!"

She didn't imagine the Tree rustling behind her as she washed her bare feet off in a bucket. The sharpness of the sound was as close to Father's voice as breeze could be. "I know, Papa," she said, head down, "but Mama wants us to become a family with Master Lafèvre."

A raven landed on the top branch of the Tree and pecked at the green fruit. Marie looked away, her stomach churning. A better daughter would've tied a hundred sparklies into the branches and then a hundred more.

“Marie!” echoed through the door.

Not taking the time to empty the bucket, Marie hurried inside. Mama's voice had come from the little room off the kitchens – where Brigitte had lived when Father had still been alive and the Exchange had still been theirs. If Brigitte was there, she would've unlocked the wardrobe to retrieve their fine gowns to wear for the Master's visit.

Mama would marry the Master. It had to be the reason.

Marie ignored the urge to look over her shoulder. Father wouldn't come with them to a new home – she knew that as sure as she knew that Mama would never allow her to climb a tree, even if it was Father's tree.

She wondered if the next owner of the house would treat him well – then she dismissed the thought. A Tree was to be taken care of by its family. When they left, he would wither and die.

"Marie! Foolish girl, where are you?"

Marie hastily scrubbed at her cheeks. If Mama saw her cry, she would ask why. She put a smile on her face and squared her shoulders before turning the corner. "I'm here, Mama!"

Mama raised an eyebrow at her. "Did the birds catch your hair? We must be ready; much rests on you, my dear – and, of course, you--" This she said to Therese, sitting primly on a rickedy stool. "Henri would not take hoidens into his household."

"Yes, Mama."

"Very good. Now help me with Therese's hair. It's a pity we can't afford a maid, but we shall make do."

"Yes, Mama."

 

 

Marie took a quick glance around her, then gave the high vase a swift kick. It shattered; spilling water and flowers all over the polished floor. The deep-red _obnoxiously_ bright blossoms flattened briefly as they hit the floor, then sprang up again as if nothing at all had happened. She lifted her foot and crushed the closest one, grinding it into the floor.

 _“We do_ not _cultivate acquaintances with those lower than ourselves, Marie.”_ Mama’s voice seemed to echo around her, from the walls, from the ceiling, from the floor and the blossoms themselves, carefully cultivated for the purpose of being displayed in this particular salon as _“a discreet display of wealth is worth a dozen alms given to the poor in building a reputation, Marie, remember this”_.

_“Do not give yourself leave to think that any connections you form outside of proper society will be allowed.”_

Her hands shook.

“Marie?”

Marie spun around. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I thought you’d like this.” Elle held out a scrap of familiar copper ribbon and the pewter trinket attached to it.

It must’ve flown into the open kitchen door when Mama had slapped her. Into the cinders and into Elle’s rescuing hands. Marie didn’t want to take it – not from Elle, not from someone that had done it out of pity and kindness. But…she couldn’t not.

“You shouldn’t have taken something that didn’t belong to you.” The pewter was still warm from Elle’s hand.

“No, I shouldn’t have.” Mildly, oh so mildly, she said it. Marie wanted to slap her.

“What in the world— _girls_!”

Marie’s heart skipped a bit; her finger tangled with the ribbon and she didn’t even dare _breathe_ as she scrambled to tuck the ribbon and trinket into her bosom, out of sight and safe.

“Mama!” She’d forgotten about the noise, that she’d needed to be gone when Mama came to investigate. “I was just—Elle broke the vase.”

“Really.” Mama’s eyes narrowed – at Elle. “I seem to remember that I told you that if you broke a single thing more that was not yours, there would be consequences.”

Elle paled. “Madame, please.”

Marie looked between them. There was something there, something that she knew nothing about – and didn’t _want_ to know about. She wanted to back away and go to her room – but knew better than to catch Mama’s attention when she was in this particular mood.

“You will go find the gardener, right now, and cut down that blasphemous tree of yours. I have told you before: I am the mistress of this house and I will not tolerate the presence of another.”

Unbidden, Marie’s memory went to the Ancestral Tree in the furthermost end of the garden. To the sparklies carefully tied to its branches every late summer and the tidy grass beneath it and the single carefully pruned climbing blossom planted beneath it. Then it went to the wood of a cut-down cherry tree, dried out and empty of spirit.

“Mama!”

Not until the sharp stare centered on her, did she realize she was the one to speak up.

“You can’t ask her to do that!” Marie improvised – there was no backing off now. “That tree is my favorite! You know that I sit there every morning to embroider.” Truth – partly.

“You can find another tree.” Mama turned back to Elle.

It was a split decision to make – persist or back away. The image of her father’s Tree, however, wouldn’t leave her. “I want this one. If you chop it down, I will tell Papa all about the sandy-haired—“

Mama went ashen. “You—!” From the look in her eyes, Marie knew she would never forget—or forgive. “ _Fine_. Then—twenty switches for you, you filthy girl.” This, she directed at Elle. “And _you_ ,” This to Marie. “have obviously become grown enough to begin the search for a proper husband.”

“Yes, Mama,” Marie mumbled, staring at the floor as Mama left.

When the footsteps were not longer audible, there was a shuffle and then a hand on Marie’s shoulder. “Marie, I have to—“

The blow took her by surprise. Elle fell into the broken china, scraped her hands and arms on the sharp edges. There was blood—Marie didn't allow herself to care.

“Don’t speak to me again. Don’t you _ever_ speak to me again, Cinderella.”

Then she left.

When she reached the grand fireplace she stopped briefly, throwing ribbon and trinket into the fire. What use was there to keep them? She’d given up everything they mean for a wench that tidied their house. It was too late, far too late.

Marie turned away as the pewter began to distort, took a deep breath and swiped her hands across her cheeks.

Done was done.

 

Marie turned her face towards the sun. Her fingers clung to the stone arches that marked the entrance to the garden, her feet hesitant to navigate the break between stone and soil. The warmth that fell upon her face felt blissful and bright for all that she saw nothing but black. Would never see anything but black again.

“Miss Marie? Please.”

Marie bit back her instinctive response; willed herself to let it go. _You’ve lost your sight by the will of the Ancestral Trees, and in addition to that we decree that for every ill word spoken and every ill deed done, the same shall be spoken or done against you._

She held out her arm. “I…apologize. Take me to the Princess.”

There was a tug at her arm before she had even finished speaking. Marie clenched her teeth and forced herself to walk. She wouldn’t be lead into a tree or a wall. Her feet would tread safely. They had already sentenced her; there would be no further punishment.

The sun grew hot against her skin as she was lead further into the Garden of Ancestral Trees. If she stayed long enough she would burn, Marie thought. It had been long since she had spent much time outside.

“Good morning, Marie.”

Lightning seemed to jump down Marie’s back, the sudden voice sending impulses to her limbs to jump or flail. She did neither, a life of _that’s unladylike, Marie_ and _you do not try to escape punishment, Marie_ having taught her that such impulses were not to be acted on.

It was hard to find her balance in the court bow she slid into, but even with shaking thighs she managed. “Princess Elle, good morning.”

“You may leave,” Elle told the servant that had brought Marie to her. To Marie, she said, “please sit. There is a bench a few inches in front of you – there should be no problem to find it.”

Sightless for only days, she already knew that persons with their sight intact had no grasp of what was ‘easy’ to find. She edged forwards, then, when her knees hit the bench, turned and with some fumbling managed to take a seat.

“I have brought you something.”

Marie turned towards Elle’s voice. She didn’t say anything – there had been one, two incidents the first day. They had taught her not to speak rather than face punishment for speaking without careful thinking.

“You saved my mother’s Ancestral Tree once – I don’t know what caused you to do it, but I nevertheless was and _am_ grateful. It seems that the smallest gesture I can make in return is this.”

Cold fingers touched her hand. She twitched – only iron control kept her on the bench in the moment of surprise. Then, something hard and almost stone-like was pushed into her hand. Marie took it – what else could she do – then carefully felt out the item.

A pot, containing a very small sapling. It was sturdy – enough so that she suspected the royal gardeners had tried their hands on it. She wanted to ask what it was – she didn’t.

Elle answered her anyway – that was how Elle acted. “I sent servants to find out whether any remnant of your father’s Tree was still alive. They brought me this. You may have it planted in this garden – I have ordered the royal gardeners to aid you in its care.”

She felt dead inside. Dead – _and_ alive. Father’s Tree. Father’s _Tree_.

“Thank you.”

Her voice sounded rusty, misused.

Elle took her hand again – this time managing not to startle her. “Thank _you_.”


End file.
